Whispers of Ash (The Nameless Book 1)

by Adrian Smith

  “I never thought I’d be asking you for help again.”

  Cordwell stood and grabbed two rucksacks off a shelving unit by the front door. “I suppose you want weapons and supplies too?”

  “Of course. And we need Brock and Kamal. Their number is in my phone.”

  “I’ll call them.” He pointed into the only other room in the log cabin. “You’ll find clothes and a shower in there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Just one question. How are we going to find the girl and Connors exactly?”

  Lisa paused in the doorway and turned. “Every LK3 employee has a subdermal implant. For security and tracking. It helps keep tabs on everyone. In case of emergencies such as these.”

  “Okay. That’s all fine. But as you can see, I’m off the grid up here. No computers of any kind. Even my radio is an old valve.”

  “We’ll be calling in on another person. Avondale. He’s my computer expert.”

  “Where?”

  “Portland.”

  Cordwell saluted her with three fingers. “I’ll load up. Be ready to go in twenty minutes.” He saluted again and disappeared down the basement stairs.

  Lisa smoothed down her fatigues. She had on camouflage suited for forests. Perfect for the mission to come. She suspected that Zanzi and Harriet had been taken to the satellite complex in the mountains. It was a gut feeling, a hunch. That location kept cropping up. She had to check with Avondale to be certain.

  Lisa hadn’t told Cordwell, but she still had Harriet’s blood sample. She had someone in mind to analyze it and figure out what was going on and why the Black Skulls wanted her so badly, and to what end.

  As she brushed the knots out of her hair, a sudden stabbing pain erupted just behind her left ear. It started at the back of her jaw and moved quickly upward. She dropped the hairbrush and clutched the sides of the basin as the wave of pain grew in intensity. Lisa had experienced some severe hangovers in her time, but nothing compared to this. She brought her hands up, clenched, and banged them against her head and fell to her knees. The pain amplified and Lisa curled into the fetal position, begging for the agony to stop.

  A thought popped into her head: end the pain by shooting it. Lisa gasped and rolled over, her eyes struggling to focus. She scanned the room between waves of torture, hunting for a weapon. She spied her M4 resting against the wall.

  Lisa bucked forward and stretched for the gun, grasping it in her shaking hands.

  A small fraction of her senses remained, screaming at her to stop. Another wave of pain convulsed through her head and traveled down her body. She likened it to giving birth to triplets all at once, while someone hit her in the head with a sledgehammer.

  Quivering, she blinked a few tears away through another wave of pain.

  Then it was gone.

  The relief was instant. One second she was fighting the worst misery she had ever known, the next it was gone.

  Lisa sobbed and dropped the gun with a thunk. She held her hand up to her mouth and shook her head in disbelief. She had come within a millisecond of pulling the trigger.

  Cordwell!

  Lisa sprang from the room and flung open the front door. She gasped as she saw a pair of boots poking out from behind the pickup truck. Quickly, she leaned down and checked Cordwell’s pulse. It beat strongly under her fingers. She moved him into the recovery position and glanced up at the noontime sun, shining through the clouds. Lisa had that same ominous feeling she’d had on September the 11th.

  Something terrible had just happened. Something catastrophic. She checked to see what other gear was needed and hurried back into the cabin.

  Twenty-Four

  Unknown Location

  As a child, Zanzi had loved to swim in the ocean. She would swim out beyond the breaking waves, turn onto her back and float. She enjoyed the sensation of weightlessness and would imagine herself being in space, floating in a spaceship as it headed to some distant planet to explore.

  Zanzi gasped as she regained consciousness. Her body still floated on clouds, but her mind snapped back to reality as though an unknown entity had cut the cord and yanked her to wakefulness. She blinked, trying to shift the grit from her eyes. Her mouth was dry, like it had been filled with sawdust, and her head throbbed, like mixed martial arts fighters had been punching her from the inside.

  Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. She was strapped to a metal gurney. It had been tilted at an angle so that she could see directly ahead, where there was a large window. There were more windows to her left and right, but she couldn’t see what was behind her. The walls were concrete and painted in two shades of white, the top color slightly gray. Everything about the place cried mental institution.

  In the room beyond the large window sat a single guard watching dozens of monitors, his back turned to her. He looked up, spun, and eyeballed her.

  He picked up an old-fashioned phone and spoke into it for a few seconds before smiling. Then returned to watching the monitors.

  Zanzi kept her eyes on the screens, trying to make out the images that flashed across them, something that might give her some indication as to where she was. But they just cycled through endless cameras showing the same two-tone white walls.

  A door behind her opened and soft footsteps padded across the room. Whoever it was ignored her and busied themselves, opening cupboards and placing items on a metal tray with a clink.

  “Evening,” a soft voice said.

  The gurney was spun around and Zanzi was confronted by a tall, slender women dressed in gray. She wore pants and a gray double-breasted jacket. The style looked weird, futuristic, and out of place. Her hair was platinum blonde and slicked back close to her head, and her eyes were the same ice blue as Milo’s. Her skin had the same marble quality too. Perfect and smooth, but with no tattoos.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” she said in her soft voice.

  Zanzi shook her head and rolled her tongue around her parched mouth. “Water, please,” she managed to croak out.

  The woman smiled and poured a glass of pink liquid. Zanzi hesitated before taking it and gulping it down. She sloshed some around her mouth before swallowing. Whatever the drink was, it worked, quenching her thirst.

  She stared at the woman as she moved sharp instruments around a tray. “Where am I?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Test.”

  “Test what?”

  “You. Now be quiet.” The woman picked up a black metal stick. She placed it against Zanzi’s arm, in the crook of her elbow. It crackled, and pain shot into her brain like someone was stabbing hot needles behind her eyeballs. It only lasted a few seconds, but those seconds dragged like minutes.

  “My name is Alba. I’m going to ask you a series of questions and run some tests. If I like the answers and you do as I ask, no more pain. Understand?”

  Zanzi gasped and nodded her head. Where the current had entered her arm, her muscles still pulsed, sending tingles up her neck.

  “Good. I’m glad you are cooperating.” Alba picked up a thin tablet and pressed the screen. “Name.”

  “Zanzi Connors.”

  “Age?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Occupation?” Alba said.

  “Student and I work part time in a lab.”

  “Field of study?”

  “Biomechanics,” Zanzi said. “Human movement. I want to help soldie…”

  “Yes. Yes. I know what it is.”

  “What work do you do in the lab?”

  “Pathology.”

  “Are you on any medication?”

  “Huh?”

  Alba sighed and electricity coursed through Zanzi again.

  “Are you on any medication?”

  “No.”

  “When did you last have a flu shot?”

  “I’ve never had one. Never needed it.”

  “I see,” Alba said, and entered notes into the
tablet.

  Zanzi craned her neck to get a better view of the device. It was paper-thin and clear. She couldn’t see any wires or circuitry, not even a brand name.

  “Do you take health supplements?”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  “What? And be specific.”

  “Turmeric and zinc.”

  “Brand?”

  “Ummm… Gold Seal, I think.”

  “Good. Very good.”

  Zanzi shook her head and fought against the metal cuffs binding her hands and legs. These people were weird.

  “Oh. Don’t struggle, my dear. That makes it worse.”

  Alba stood and grabbed another tablet. She held it over Zanzi’s head and moved it back and forth.

  “Huh,” she muttered. “There it is.” She zapped Zanzi again before tapping the tablet-like device.

  “Good, it’s off.”

  “What is?”

  Alba jabbed her again.

  “What have you done with Harriet? With Lisa?” Zanzi said through gritted teeth.

  Alba’s icy blue eyes flashed, and she hit Zanzi again with the taser. Electricity ripped through her body.

  She waited until Zanzi had finished convulsing, then ripped off lengths of duct tape. She placed one over Zanzi’s mouth and another over her nose.

  One minute…

  Flashes of red and gold darted across Zanzi’s vision. Her lungs screamed for air.

  One minute thirty seconds…

  Her body shook and convulsed, everywhere burned, like fire ants were stinging her and she had lava running through her veins.

  One minute fifty seconds…

  Alba ripped off the tape covering her mouth. Zanzi gasped and coughed as she drew oxygen back into her starved body. Her brain pounded behind her eyes.

  “You’re a psycho.”

  “The pain method normally works,” Alba said, ignoring her insult. She flashed a fresh square of duct tape.

  Zanzi struggled and gasped. Alba grinned, taunting her.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I enjoy it. You, like your mother, are resistant. It’s rather perplexing,” Alba said. She moved away from the gurney and scrolled through her screen.

  Zanzi’s mind raced as she gasped in more air. “My … my mother?”

  Alba looked down at her. Her marble-like face softened. A flash of pity, maybe? As quickly as it appeared, it left. Alba’s face returned to its Botox-like rigidity.

  “I guess you didn’t know. Your mother Calwyn was a guest here for a time.” Alba’s voice was soft but laced with venom. “But don’t think you’re going to be reunited. She’s been neutralized. Did you know Calwyn is an ancient Welsh name. Thousands of years old.” Alba trailed off and walked out of sight.

  Zanzi groaned and renewed her efforts to break free. Her wrists rubbed against the metal cuffs binding her. She kicked her legs, ignoring the pain. Alba chuckled and jabbed the taser into Zanzi’s side, holding it there.

  Shooting, sharp pain returned, making Zanzi gasp.

  Alba pulled the taser free and shook her head. “Fighting is a waste of time. Save your strength. You are going to need it.”

  Alba turned and left the room, clicking the door shut. Zanzi grimaced and glanced up at the man monitoring the screens. He pivoted and smiled at her, showing most of his teeth. Like he had enjoyed watching.

  The door reopened. Hands swung the gurney around, and she was staring at Milo.

  “Hello, Miss Connors. Ready to witness the purification?”

  “Purification?”

  Milo smiled and wiped her sweaty hair from her brow before pushing her gurney out into a corridor lined with large windows.

  The Sierra Nevada Mountains were spread out before her: snow-capped peaks and towers of rock, valleys and rivers, meadows of wildflowers. Zanzi recognized the valley below, having spent weeks walking its trails with her father, looking for her mother. She let out a breath and blinked away the tears. At least she knew where she was now.

  “I apologize for Alba’s methods, but she is the best at what she does.” Milo laughed. “She does enjoy playing a bit too much with her subjects.”

  “She’s a psycho. Just like all you weirdos.”

  Milo stopped the gurney and glared down at her. His right eye twitched. “It will be best if you keep your tongue silent from now on. Others are not so forgiving as I.” He shook his head and wheeled her into an elevator. It zoomed up in silence.

  Milo pushed her into a cavernous semi-circular room. High glass windows covered the southern wall, giving a spectacular view of the mountains and beyond, toward the plains of continental America. A boardroom-style table and chairs were next to a gigantic display of black TV screens.

  Milo stopped in the middle of the room and, with the push of a button, brought the gurney upright.

  “You’re an intelligent person. Have you ever wondered what the world would be like if we’d never had the Dark Ages?”

  “Can’t say that I have. Bit of a strange question.”

  “Humor me. Think about it.”

  “Why? The Dark Ages happened. We can’t change it.”

  Milo moved to the galley and poured two glasses of water from a crystal decanter. He pressed another button to release Zanzi’s hands and handed her one of the glasses.

  “People like me wondered. We dared to think differently. Revolutionary. Asked “What if?” “Why?” The Dark Ages have always fascinated me. No progress for centuries. After the Greek and Roman empires fell and religion took over, people were afraid to think freely, afraid to be called a heretic and burned at the stake or beheaded. Then we had the Renaissance.” Milo looked at her. His ice-blue eyes sparkled.

  “Look how far we have come in one hundred years!” he said. “We were barely flying or driving as the nineteenth century became the twentieth.” He turned and clasped his hands behind his back, staring out the window.

  The late afternoon sun bathed the mountains in an orange glow, painting the snow, rocks, trees, and rivers, enveloping it all in a halo of life. The elevator doors hissed open.

  “Now now, Milo. Not spoiling the fun, are we?”

  Zanzi turned toward the voice. A dark-haired man surrounded by armed guards strode across the room. Behind him came several couples, all dressed in varying shades of white. The man stood before her and smiled. Like everyone else in this building, he had flawless skin and blue eyes. He spoke with a crisp German accent and clicked the heels of his leather shoes together. She knew him as well as anybody who watched the news. Victor Offenheim, owner and CEO of ReinCorp.

  “Release our guest. This is no way to treat the daughter of Calwyn.”

  Milo unclipped her ankles and helped her from the gurney. Offenheim draped an ivory-colored angora shawl around her shoulders.

  “Please join me in witnessing the purification.” He pointed to a long leather couch in front of the bank of screens. Zanzi shuddered at his touch, but followed him nonetheless.

  Twenty-Five

  Koyasan, Japan

  The magazine clicked empty. Ryan ejected it and jammed in the last spare. He stood at the door, gun poking through the small window, shooting at any sightless he saw. The first three had been easy targets because they had stuck their heads in the window as they shrieked and gnashed their teeth. The next five sightless had been more cautious, standing to the sides and testing the strength of the door. Allie stood with him, bō staff gripped tight. She had already knocked out several.

  “Any ideas?” she said.

  “Don’t die.”

  “Oh, that’s helpful.” Allie slammed her staff into the forehead of another frenzied face. The corridor beyond was filling up fast. Ryan guessed at fifteen. Apart from the fact that they were once humans, there was no similarity. The creatures were hairless, the skin ivory with angry red slashes crisscrossing their bodies. But it was the eyes that scared him. Clouded and soulless. Some were dressed in suits, but most had on lab coats or coveralls of different colors.<
br />
  “Hogai! You know this facility. Is there another way out?” Ryan shouted as he shot another rabid, scoring a chest shot. The creature looked down at the gushing hole before slumping next to the other dead.

  “I don’t know.” Hogai crouched behind the sofa. “Possibly. I’ve always come through the front.”

  Ryan glanced at Daisaku for help, but he was huddled in the corner, his hands over his ears. He was rocking back and forth. Ryan had seen the look before. Knew the signs. The man was defeated. A man without hope. He had given in and given up the fight.

  Daisaku muttered over and over, “Yuki-onna has come to suck out my soul and prevent me from taking my place next to my ancestors. Yuki-onna is going to suck out my soul … siphon it out of me… I’ll be an empty shell wandering the earth forever … lost … with no home. Siphon it out of me… For eternity… I’ll be lost… Siphon it out of me… Siphon it out… Siphon…”

  Ryan focused his attention back to the snarling sightless eyes, Daisaku’s words echoing in his mind. Siphon… Siphon… Siphon.

  The description was accurate. Allie had witnessed the monks siphoning the fluid from the spine. Hogai too had seen it. He shuddered and shot another Siphon through the throat. Blood gurgled out as it tried to scream through red teeth.

  “Well, since you don’t have a plan, I came up with one,” Allie said.

  “All right. Spit it out.”

  “Fire extinguishers.”

  Ryan twisted around, scanning the room. Two large extinguishers. One in the kitchen and another by the door. He understood what Allie meant.

  “Let them off?”

  “You got it. Then we sneak out and make a run for it.”

  Ryan leant back and let Allie smash another Siphon in the face. “It’s risky but it’s all we got. Let’s hope these Siphons can’t smell us.”

  “Siphons?”

  “These freaks. Something Daisaku said.”

  “I like it.” Her green eyes twinkled. “Tell the others. I’ll keep them at bay.”